


it's like wishing for rain as i stand in the desert

by LucentPetrichor



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Clint is badass, Coulson Lives, Fix-It, Fury Being a Manipulative Bastard, Fury lies, I'm all for Clint being a BAMF and threatening Fury, M/M, fluff?, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucentPetrichor/pseuds/LucentPetrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's a patient man. Really, he is. So that's why he waits until <em>after</em> the curb stomp battle before going after Fury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's like wishing for rain as i stand in the desert

**Author's Note:**

> Fairly old fic. As most of mine do, came out of a conversation with [Salomonderiel](<a%20href=) like aaaaaaages ago. I just love Bowtie so muuuuch and they broke my heart in The Avengers.
> 
> You cannot tell me that there was not the slightest tremor in Phil's voice when he said "Barton's been compromised."
> 
> Also, is "Bowtie" not the most perfect C/C ship name?
> 
> EDIT: LunaticV had a good point with the plot early on. Hopefully things are clearer now.

"Tasha, how many agents?"

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

"Loki. He got away?" And there was an unspoken question there, one that he really really didn't want to know the answer to. Tasha's silence was enough to answer it.

He didn't feel grief. Not at first.

More... numb. As though this wasn't actually his life, it was a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare. But he'd wake up; he'd lived through nightmares before.

One look at Tasha, however, one look at that raw emptiness that no one else saw and his worst fears were confirmed; this wasn't a nightmare, this was real and he sat perfectly still, mind reeling.

Phil... His mind flashed back to that morning... god, no, it hadn't been that morning; that morning was what, a week old? Unsurprisingly that realisation didn't exactly make him feel better.

He hadn't been the one to kill his husband, had he? Surely Loki hadn't... another look at Tasha, another unspoken question and answer and a slight sense of relief. He snorted; what good was feeling relieved that he hadn't killed Phil? What good was it that Phil was still dead...

And yet. He thought back to that morning again; he had been so wrapped up in just the thought of Phil, he hadn't been paying enough attention to the man's words. It was the day before his possession, before everything went to shit, basically and he had managed to do what he did best and royally piss off the person closest to him.

They had as good as ended that day. Unintentionally, but what good is hindsight in the life they led? He remembered Phil telling him he loved him with frightening intensity and honesty, he remembered being slightly flippant as usual, and he remembered the momentary flash of fear in Phil's eyes. They had gone to bed angry that night, both unwilling to broach an uncomfortable subject. And then the world went to pieces around them, Clint pulled one way and Phil in the opposite direction.

He hadn't even had a chance to tell Phil he loved him, that Phil was the best thing that had happened to him since... forever, that...

He thought harder, clawing to whatever shreds of hope he could. Phil wasn't one for random endearments, not even with his husband. There was a reason for telling Clint he loved him, there was a reason for that flash of fear, for that intensity, and Clint had a very nasty thought he now knew exactly what that reason was. There was a pretty big chance that the Avengers Initiative wouldn't have gotten off the ground, especially considering who had been recruited, namely a genius billionaire with bad attitude and a super soldier with a stick up his backside. No, they'd need motivation of the most brutal kind and fuck, _why_ hadn't Clint seen that earlier?

Oh, Fury was going to pay. Fury was going to pay in blood and more once this whole damned nasty business was over, and he'd better be ready for it. Clint wasn't about to let Fury go without a fight, and it was going to be a fucking huge fight.

~*~

It was harder than he thought it would be, compartmentalising his loss. Everything reminded him of Phil. Every move he made, every shot he took had a memory attached to it, and he ached to make some quip down the comms, to feel Phil's dry smile as he told him to "concentrate on not getting shot, yourself".

The only time he let himself go was when Tasha mentioned Budapest. He tried so damn hard to make his answer joking, but she picked up on the tiniest quaver in his voice and glanced at him as he shouted back at her "You and I remember Budapest very differently!" Of course they did, Budapest was where ‘Coulson’ made the transition to ‘Phil’, and ‘Barton’ made the change to ‘Clint’...

Finally it was all over; Loki was in chains (Clint had given up all hope of shooting him in the eye, he saw the insanity there and felt nothing but pity any more), and Clint was free to go after Fury.

And go after Fury he did. Tasha didn't try to stop him; clearly her ties to Clint were far stronger than her ties to SHIELD. In fact Tasha was right beside him, striding tall and deadly and confident down the hallway to Fury's office. The door was locked, Clint made short work of it with a thin arrowhead (and made sure the lock would never be usable again, mangling the mechanism and then stabbing it again for good measure), and they walked in to face the back of Fury's chair. It turned, slowly, ominously and Clint was half expecting to see the man stroking a fluffy white cat, the bastard... He shoved the thought out of his mind and crossed the room with the grace of many years in the field as a warrior, silent and lethal, levelling an arrow at Fury's good eye as he snarled "Give me one reason, one goddamn **good** reason, why I shouldn't put out your other eye and leave you completely blind."

Fury had the audacity to laugh. To fucking **laugh** when Hawkeye, best marksman in the field had an arrow trained on his good eye; and Black Widow, possibly the deadliest assassin the world knew (or rather didn’t know) and could hit a target from a good kilometre away had a gun aimed at his chest from where she stood by the door. Fury laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Stopping only when the arrow shifted to his throat, and Clint growled again "I'm waiting, _Director_.” With a smirk, Fury lifted a hand and tried to push the arrow away.

"Barton, let's not jump to conclusions here. Why don't you put down your bow, Natasha can put down her gun, I can put down my gun" - Clint glanced down to see, of course, a handgun gripped in Fury's other hand pointing upwards slightly at Clint's heart - "and we can have a nice discussion about this whole... misunderstanding."

Clint scowled, stormcloud heavy, looked at Natasha who nodded almost imperceptibly, and lowered his bow as she lowered her pistol. "Talk, Fury. My fingers are itching for some bow action, it's been a few hours since I stopped shooting Chitauri, and I feel like shooting some more things. Coulson's alive, and you're going to tell me where and how. I already know why, you manipulative bastard. Trust me on this, at least, this fragile truce you have with us, with the Avengers, just got even flimsier."

"It was necessary."

Natasha swore in Russian and it was decidedly not a very nice word. Clint scoffed. "Necessary. You killed my partner, my _other half_ – and don't pretend like you didn't know, you bastard, you knew and that makes it worse – out of necessity? You’ll forgive me for telling you that’s not enough."

Fury sighed and sagged slightly. Clint almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Yes, necessity. Do you really think that the Avengers Initiative would have come about with that idiot of a genius needling everyone and everything, a super soldier with some major culture shock issues, a god chasing after his psychotic adopted brother god, a scientist whose temper is barely restrained and with a very nasty angry side, and you two. Because I do not. And neither did Agent Coulson."

Clint froze slightly, but motioned for Fury to carry on. Fury glared at him out of the corner of his good eye for a second and then closed it, leaning his head back against his chair "Give me fucking strength," he muttered, "Fine. On your own head be it, Barton, and I expect the best of behaviour from you from now on. Is that clear?"

That last sentence was snapped out, prompting an unconscious "Sir!" from Clint who then felt somewhat betrayed by his vocal chords.

Fury had made it to the door with the mangled lock and was striding down the hall. He didn't look behind him, but it was clear he expected the two assassins to follow. Bastard... And yet Clint all but scrambled over the table to get to the door to follow the manipulative lying shit who would lead him back to his husband.

~*~

Tasha and Clint followed Fury deep into the heart of the Helicarrier, the bald man using codes on walls that they would have never guessed were actually doors, and doors that had seemed to hold the entrance to two places in reality depending on the code you punched in, until finally they came to a single white door at the end of a long corridor. Fury stood to one side and rubbed his eyes with one hand. _It had been too long. Fuck, no one should ever have to believe that their loved ones were dead, any amount of time would have been too long and Barton had spent the past 24 hours straight out of his mindfuck believing..._

Clint showed absolutely no restraint barrelling down the corridor, almost falling only once and catching himself, forcing himself to go on. He threw himself against the door, not caring if it was locked or not, whether or not it would open and send him sprawling on the floor... which of course, it did. Tasha, who had followed him down the hall at a more sedate pace, stepped delicately over him and froze. Clint looked up from his spread eagle position on the floor to see Phil 'My First Name Is Agent' Coulson sitting on the edge of a hospital bed facing away from the door, suit trousers and shirt on but untucked, struggling weakly to shrug on a blazer, still hooked up to about five hospital machines.

 Clint scrambled upright, almost knocking Tasha over in his eagerness to just _touch_ Phil again. He tugged the blazer gently out of the older man's hands, lightly brushing them with his fingertips, revelling in the spark that the touch lit in the bottom of his stomach. Phil stiffened at the touch, going perfectly still, exercising his famous control. Clint dropped the blazer on the bed next to him as he moved round to face the injured man.

 "Phil... " Clint's throat closed up and he could feel tears pricking his eyes. He swiped at them and sat on the bed next to his husband, "Phil." He was lost for words. Him. Clint Barton, chatterbox extraordinaire was lost for words.

But it would seem that that simple, single syllable word was enough and Phil pulled Clint into a kiss that he melted into; pouring every bit of worry, sorrow, guilt, and love into that fragile mouth to mouth contact, hoping that it would be enough.

As they broke apart, foreheads resting against each other's, seeking to devour each other with their eyes, Phil whispered in a voice thick with emotion "Clint, I am so so sorry... You couldn't know... but you should have, and... "

He never got to finish that sentence because Clint shut him up very effectively by kissing him again, long and slow and sweet and deep, and there were no more words needed after that. Everything was back the way it should be, and there was absolutely no harm in a happy ending. And if Fury went back to his office to find everything glued to the ceiling in exactly the same positions as they were on the ground, well, Clint wasn’t taking the responsibility for that; he had been in Phil’s hospital room the whole time. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the team.

**Author's Note:**

> Revieeeeeeeeeews. Would love 'em, kthxbai. 
> 
> You know I love you lot like loads, right? 'kay, good.


End file.
